


No Body No Crime

by prettylittlepetticoats



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Angst, BAMF Hermione Granger, Blood, Blood and Violence, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dark Hermione Granger, Death Eaters, Explicit Language, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger-centric, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Revenge, Song Lyrics, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylittlepetticoats/pseuds/prettylittlepetticoats
Summary: All hope is lost when the Wizarding World falls to the tyranny of Tom Riddle, but Hermione Granger has hope, no, forget that, she has a plan. A plan that involves making her way down the list of Death Eaters, one by one, taking them out by any means necessary, until she gets to him / ONESHOT, Post-War
Relationships: Antonin Dolohov/Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger/Augustus Rookwood, Hermione Granger/Fenrir Greyback, Hermione Granger/Mulciber Jr., Hermione Granger/Rabastan Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Selwyn, Hermione Granger/Thorfinn Rowle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 19
Kudos: 163





	No Body No Crime

**Author's Note:**

> I could not resist writing this, t swift is a bad bitch, and fuck I do love a good revenge story.
> 
> do enjoy, let me know if you did, let me know if you want more in this style, in this theme! honestly this was so satisfying to write I am so ready to do more like this.
> 
> comment if you fancy it, and do enjoy
> 
> songrecs: no body, no crime - taylor swift ft haim

* * *

' _He did it. He did it'_

' _Este's a friend of mine, we meet up every Tuesday for dinner and a glass of wine, Este's been losing sleep, her husband's acting different and it smells like infidelity'_

She stalks them at night.

Four years since the war, four years since Harry had fallen and since the Wizarding World had gone to hell in a hand basket.

Four years since muggleborns were rounded up and slaughtered, three years since the Weasley's had been executed on the steps of the Ministry, two years since Remus had sacrificed himself to blow up the Muggleborn Registration Building, one year since Neville had been tortured into insanity just like his parents.

Half a year since she had begun this crusade.

The Order was shattered, they had played fair, but the Death Eaters had no such morals. The Order had crumbled in the face of such brutal opposition, and now they were scattered, like leaves on the wind.

Ginny the only surviving Weasley was in hiding in Scotland, with Luna, healing any wounded who came to them, but not much beyond that.

Seamus and Dean had a bolthole in Cornwall, brewing potions to poison any Death Eater they could stalk to a pub, but it was small stuff.

Sirius had near lost himself in the bottle after Remus had died, but had pulled it together, and with Aberforth had been smuggling supplies out of Hogwarts, just the odd package they could get out.

Everyone was trying to do their bit, the broken Order spread across the UK, fighting back in any way they could, making a stand even though their legs were broken. It wasn't much, but there was nothing else now. Harry gone, Dumbledore gone, Snape gone, _everyone_ gone. This was all they could do, and they all tried to do their part.

And she did hers.

Their resistance was thin, paltry, but it was _something_ , surely something was better than nothing? Perhaps, but it didn't make it enough.

The Death Eaters lived in full view now, spouting ideas of traditionalism, with Voldemort (suddenly looking more like Tom Riddle now) at their head, power invoked, there was no stopping them. The public were either cowed beneath the boot or they basked in the new regime. The Ministry was theirs; Hogwarts was theirs; every inch of Wizarding Britain was theirs.

Sure, there was a resistance, they poisoned a Death Eater here, stole a dark artifact out of Hogwarts there and healed a torture victim once a week, but it was _nothing_. They weren't clawing back any power, they weren't winning anything, there was no victory, not anymore. They weren't winning.

And so, six months ago she had decided she would.

"Forgive me" She had whispered to the heavens, perhaps to Harry or Ron or Dumbledore or her parents or the countless others she'd lost. "Forgive me" One last whisper and then a hard set took her eyes, and she made a choice.

* * *

' _She says, "that ain't my merlot on his mouth" That ain't my jewelry on our joint account" No, there ain't no doubt I think I'm gonna call him out"_

The first one is almost too easy.

She picks someone easy to be fair, a drunk Mulciber, not even bothering to cover up the ugly dark mark splashed across his arm as he drinks in a Muggle pub. She wasn't sure why he was drinking here, in Muggle London, but for her purposes it was perfect.

Again, _too_ easy.

All it takes is a flutter of her eyelashes, a pretty smile, and an overly loud giggle (she learned these things from Lavender, and she sends a silent thank you up to the girl when Mulciber sticks a hand on her thigh and leads her out into a dark alleyway).

She tempts him, a little kiss on his cheek, a cheeky wink, a brush of her hand against his arm. She was never a seductress, too awkward and curly haired with a million books slung across her back, but with her extensive glamour charms and a true purpose behind her actions she finds herself almost playing a part.

And it comes to her startlingly easily (perhaps too easily).

He is drunk, but still strong and as he goes for her neck, brushes her blonde hair aside (a charm), she giggles again, he falls against her a little, and then she is giggling some more, running a hand through his hair, his tongue swipes against her neck, and then the blade strapped to her thigh is soon in her hand and swiping against his ribs.

Once, twice, he stumbles back, but she rushes forward, and stabs this time, _hard_ , into his stomach.

It feels good, to do it the muggle way.

He gurgles then, but she isn't convinced, Wizards can heal almost anything, she isn't taking any chances, not with this, and as good as the muggle way feels, she is a witch, despite what her victim would think, and so, her wand is soon out, and she finds herself undoing the glamour charms that took hours, she wants him to see, she wants him to know it was her.

Arrogance perhaps, or vindication, but she wants him to know, as Hermione Granger is revealed before him, bushy haired and all.

"You're…" Is all he manages, eyes wide, before she is slashing her wand forward.

"Avada Kadavra" A flash of green and the lights are gone from his eyes.

One down.

* * *

' _She says, I think he did it, but I just can't prove it, I think he did it but I just can't prove it, I think he did it but I just can't prove it'_

She goes for another easy one next. It builds her confidence she thinks, or at least that is what she tells herself as she gets ready.

Again, the glamours take a long time, but she has more of a knack for them now, and she settles on the same obscene look.

Long blonde hair with a gentle curl to the end, a smattering of freckles across her snub nose, bright blue eyes, an inch or two off her height, rosy cheeks, a dimple even, creamy skin, a tucked in waist, perky and pretty. She looks the picture of innocence and all things sweet. She doesn't look a day over 19.

Like Alice in Wonderland, _'It's no use going back to yesterday because I was a different person then…'_

Alice indeed.

She knows thew Death Eater's will just eat it up.

And the next one does, as planned.

Selwyn … she doesn't even know his first name. He is drinking in Knockturn Alley, a little more difficult, but she wears a hood, and ' _stumbles'_ into him. Bright blue eyes meet his grey ones, and he is soon patting down the stool next to her, buying her a drink.

 _God_ , are these the crack hands that had defeated the Order one after another? She feels a little ashamed of the thought.

But again, she giggles at his offensive jokes, runs a hand over his shoulder, places a dainty little kiss to his neck, playing the part. Again, she feels a little annoyed at just how _easy_ this is.

Even more so when Selwyn's grubby hands are on her breasts (over her dress) in the alley behind Knockturn (why alleys, it helps her purpose though), and he is murmuring in her ear just _what_ he is going to do to her. Somehow, she manages not to gag as he whispers such profanities.

He soon shuts up when she stabs her wand into the side of his neck and hits him with a cutting curse that sprays blood halfway up the wall and across her pretty blue dress.

She smiles as he drops, just barely alive, just able to see her cancel the glamours. He can't even speak, just gurgles as she looks down at him, wand out, no chances taken.

But again, she wants him to see it is her, as her blonde hair colours to brown, her curls explode and she grows taller to stand over him, golden eyes crackling with vengeance.

"Avada Kadavra" Green light sizzles up the wall, and he's gone.

A second later she turns on the spot and so is she.

Two down.

* * *

' _No, no body, no crime. But I ain't letting up until the day I die. No, no I think he did it. No, no, he did it'_

Third time lucky, and this one is a little trickier, but just barely.

Rookwood really needs better security.

Again, she feels almost embarrassed that these are the idiots that had shattered the resistance. Especially as she enters the Ministry, pretty and prim, introducing herself as ' _Charlotte Selwyn'_ a witch from America grieving her dear cousin, _god_ they don't even check her wand. Again, it is too easy, and she wonders how Tom Riddle runs such a tight ship with so many holes in it.

One day she'll find out, that she is determined of.

One day she'll stand down from Tom Riddle, smirking that she has picked his operation apart before she takes him down too. She will.

She makes her way through the Ministry, plenty of men glance at her, but no one stops her, no one questions her, she is left to skip on her pretty way, and then she is at Rookwoods office.

He doesn't even notice her as he comes in, though she supposes that makes sense since she is concealed. She doesn't even reveal herself, just creeps up behind him, grabs him from behind before he can react and slashes a blade across his throat.

He falls face forward, but she kicks him over before firing on him. Again, he sees her, she cancels the glamours, she doesn't know why this part is so important to her, but it is. She gives a face to what she is doing, the revenge she is exacting.

She fires.

"Avada Kadavra"

A little trickier considering it is the Ministry, but the murder is easy.

Someone had once told her murders stain the soul, and yet hers feels bright as she bounces out of the Ministry, glamours hastily reapplied, not quite perfect, and yet not one worker notices the blood on her white coat, or the way her blonde hair flickers twice to brown. They ignore her as she escapes in the floo grate.

Too easy again, and she wonders how easy it would be to blow up the ministry perhaps, she decides she'll send a note to Seamus when she gets to her hidey hole, he always did like making a mess after all.

Three down.

* * *

' _Este wasn't there, Tuesday night at Olive Garden at her job or anywhere. He reports his missing wife, and I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires'_

The next one is more difficult, but she knows she can't go on killing lowly Death Eater's, as easy as it is. She has to reach the next layer.

She goes for someone now _just_ outside the inner circle, but no less dangerous.

Greyback.

She applies the glamour's painstakingly, knowing she has to be careful here. Mulciber, Selwyn and Rookwood were easy, drunk, and stupid, but as much as she hates to admit it, she knows Greyback is smart, knows he will sniff out any hint of deception, she has to be smart here, _smarter_.

She spends an extra hour adjusting her outfit, the little red dress, her eyes a touch wider, bottle blue, the long blonde hair falling to her waist.

Now perhaps she is Little Red Riding Hood and wants Greyback to eat her right up.

Or rather she wants him to want to do that. She doesn't intend on letting him get any further than that. She will not be gobbled today.

' _Never trust a stranger-friend; No one knows how it will end. As you're pretty, so be wise; Wolves may lurk in every guise'_

Little Red wouldn't quake in her patent white boots, and neither does she as she approaches the werewolf pub on the outskirts of London. She wants too, but she must keep her cool … or try to.

Her nose wrinkles as she stumbles inside, soaked to the bone, playing the part, little lost traveller stumbling into the wrong neighbourhood, it's so cliché she'd roll her eye if it didn't ruin the part. She notices them all turn in her direction the second she steps inside, and she sees Greyback out the corner of his eye, sees his growl, staking his claim.

 _Perfect_.

There is no talk here, no friendly drink or attempt at seduction (though somehow, she prefers that), she's not seconds off approaching the bar and she feels arms at her waist, dragging her outside. There is no full moon, but she knows Greyback intends to savage her.

This is the first time she feels scared.

She shrieks and sobs, plays the part, though her trembling is real, how could it not be? She'd be stupid if she weren't scared, but fear does not mean she cannot do what she came here to do, that is what she must remember.

The others before him weren't threats, but Greyback is, he is a real threat as he throws her on the grass outside the pub, she can feel the other wolves leaning out the windows of the pub to watch, watch their Alpha ruin some pretty young thing who had the misfortune of stumbling across their den.

Unfortunately, they won't get to watch what they want. Well … _unfortunate_ for them, fortunate for her.

With Greyback she has to time it perfectly. He tears at her dress, and she has to let him go a little further, his hands on her thighs, he even kisses her and that she hates most of all; too intimate, too real, even if his lips on her mouth do feel a little warm, and her thighs feel a little hotter (that she'll never admit to herself, god she needs to get laid if an evil werewolf is making her feel a little flushed). She squirms under him, but he rakes his fingernails across her side hard, and she lets out a shriek, real and exaggerated all at the same time.

"Don't worry little girl" He growls, "If you're good I'll give you a belly full of pups"

She thinks this would be the perfect moment, to spit in his face, reveal herself and murder him, but she knows it's not, no, as badass as that would be, she has to wait. Wait for him to reach for his trousers, wait for him to lean off her just a hint, and then she strikes.

She is thankful she has both wand and dagger.

A slicing hex to his chest barely penetrates, and she has to fire again, harder, a scream tearing from her lips as she throws it at him. Again, it doesn't do much, but it opens a tiny cut, and that is where she truly strikes.

It has only been seconds, and he is so shocked, so shocked a petite little blonde would even _dare_ to try to hurt him that his reflexes don't react in time, not as she uses the tiny cut to make way for the silver dagger she buries in his heart.

The great Alpha Greyback bought down by a little girl, fallen to his own foolishness and arrogance. She almost pities him, she has often lost herself in arrogance, but she is the winner here.

He keels over, but she isn't done, she makes sure to pull the dagger free and then stab again, and again, and again, and _again_. She can feel it stab into his heart; the only way to kill a Werewolf. Again, and again, and _again_ , and only when his heart is a mashed-up pulp does she stop.

As she turns back to the pub where said werewolves are trying to come out to her, she is covered in blood and cancels the glamour charms with pride, Hermione Granger standing before them, covered in the blood and guts of their Alpha, smiling all the while.

Of course, they would seek to come out and kill her in revenge, but she'd locked and bolted the doors behind her, and had warded the entire pub a day earlier whilst they had been sleeping, no one is getting out now.

She doesn't flinch as she flicks her wand and sets the wooden building ablaze. It goes up fast, and she watches as it goes down, the Fiendfyre consuming the wolves inside. They scream and beg and plead and she smiles, covered in the blood of their Alpha as the building and surrounding field is turned to cinders, disapparating before it reaches her.

Four down.

(Or perhaps 27 if you count the pack).

* * *

' _And his mistress moved in, sleeps in Este's bed and everything. No there ain't no doubt, somebody's gotta catch him out, cause I think he did it but I just can't prove it (he did it)'_

The next mission is perhaps the hardest (though she remembers her moment of panic when the first stinging hex on Greyback failed and feels perhaps this one may be a touch less stressful, well at least she hopes so).

This time it is double trouble.

Bella is long dead, having perished to Neville just before he had been lost to the world of insanity, but her brother and lover remain, and they are her targets.

It is difficult because they tend to stay in Lestrange Manor, and she knows she is a little notorious now.

Of course, none of them know who she is, but people know that _someone_ is killing Death Eaters, that Voldemort is searching for whoever is thinning his ranks, that there have been no survivors to her attacks, no words of what she looks like. She leaves no trail (she is thankful she is so gifted at memory charms, no memory of Charlotte Sewlyn or a pretty blonde in Knockturn Alley remain), and she works with brutal efficiency.

Some even say that the remaining Death Eaters are scared.

Such a thought fills her with a nice warm glow as she prepares herself once again.

It is the same as before, she uses her wand to give a curl to her bright blonde hair, pulls on a pretty pink dress, gives her lips a touch of colour and smiles so now two dimples pop on her skin. She can't be a day older than 21 in this get up.

She feels both pleased with herself and disgusted that this _actually_ works.

She spent weeks trying to figure out where to run into the Lestrange brothers, how to get to them, but then Ginny tips her off that there is a muggle raid happening soon, the Lestrange brothers leading a massacre on an English village that holds some resistance fighters (they already got them out but then the brothers don't know that), it is _perfect_.

And so, she skips on, hair acurl, cheeks pink, and positions herself an hour before they arrive. Just a sweet muggle girl, wand strapped to her thigh as well as a knife, the glint in her eye the only thing giving her away, and you'd have to know her to know it was there.

They are five minutes late, but then they are breaking down the doors, taking a wand to every muggle they pass. It is easier than she thought to push down her urge to save them, but again briefly her eyes find the heavens and she feels that tinge of guilt.

"I'll save more this way" She whispers, and then the door of her fake home is kicked through, and she screams in horror (planned, if anything she sounds cute as a button when she does scream) as they rush in.

It is Rabastian that stands in front of her as she whimpers, and as he raises her wand she worries for a minute that he is just going to kill her and she'll blow the plan by stopping him.

Thankfully, he just as stupid as she had expected.

He drags her by her hair (and her kicking and clawing is real because _fuck_ that hurts), to his brother who laughs, kicks her in the stomach, and declares her a pretty prize. She is tempted to take them down now but knows it won't work, not here, not when one could escape or both could pin her down, she has to wait.

They take her back to Lestrange Manor, and her trembling again is real, this is risky, _very_ risky, perhaps more than Greyback.

But she is a Gryffindor through and through, _risk and reward_.

She thinks briefly of Harry then, who she feels would both approve of the recklessness of her work but would disapprove massively of the sneaking and hiding. She misses him so much it hurts, her best friend, her brother, the thought of him gives her the courage she needs.

She thinks of Ron too, who is probably cheering her on for each murder but grimacing at the grim way she has to perform them. The thought of him brings her courage too.

_Gryffindor courage._

Rabastian throws her on the floor once they appear inside, and she feels a tear to her dress. She shakes a little, but again she knows, she knows she must wait.

She is patient, something she had never been accused of before but has quickly learnt; patience is often key in these situations.

' _Learning patience can be a difficult experience, but once conquered you will find life is easier'_ Something her Mother had once said, her sweet Mother, now buried in a little plot in Hampstead, just down the road from their old dentistry practice, her Father next to her.

Patience is hard when she thinks of her parents, of the pain they were caused. Their killer Corbyn Yaxley died a year ago, not by her hand, something she regrets. She never got her personal vengeance.

She'll have to save Tom for that.

But now she has to focus, focus on the Lestrange brothers, Tom will come later.

Of that she has no doubt.

Rodolphus doesn't seem nearly as fussed by this as his brother, so she knows she'll need to kill him first, Rabastian will be sloppy in his chaos and pawing at her, Rodolphus is calmer, he'll be more focused. She'll go for him first, make sure she takes him down.

"No!" She squeals as Rabastian rips at her dress further, leaving her in her underwear and just an underskirt, he laughs, and she near re-evaluates her stance. But she knows she has to kill the older brother first.

And so, as simply as, she does.

She doesn't reveal herself first, unfortunately she has to leave the theatrics behind. She grabs her wand, concealed at her thigh, and slashes it forward, "Avada Kadavra" And Rodolphus falls.

Next, she goes for the concealed knife, and before Rabastian can even realise his brother is dead, she buries it in his throat, and then she kicks him off of her.

"Ugh" She is a little annoyed that she didn't manage to do her reveal, as now both Lestrange brothers lie dead at her feet (and she fires another killing curse to Rabastian just in case, as she always does), but this one was harder, probably the worst next to Greyback.

She realises then she must be quite far gone, that the primary emotion she is feeling is annoyance, annoyance that she didn't get to reveal herself, rather than any sort of regret or upset at having just killed two men.

Eh, her number is always creeping higher, perhaps her soul is being stained, but if it is, she doesn't feel it.

She smiles to herself then, she is close, two left and then the Master, then she can rest, _finally_.

Two down.

Three to go.

* * *

' _I think he did it but I just can't prove it, no, no body, no crime, but I ain't letting up until the day I die, no, no, I think he did it, no, no, he did it'_

The next one is the hardest, but for a different reason to the others. This is the only one where she worries, where she might feel just a _hint_ of regret.

It is an odd feeling, she has slashed through her list without a flinch, these men, evil, ugly men, are propping up Voldemort, the tyrannical dictator who has destroyed Britain, killed her loved ones, and will probably turn his sights on the world next. She has no concerns offing the men who helped put him in power, no worries about murdering his loyal servants.

Except the next one … it bothers her just a smidge.

She finds him in the Leaky Cauldron, somewhere she hasn't been in years. It is much changed.

It is quieter for one, she knows people tend to prefer Knockturn Alley now, and the Leaky has lost much of its comfort. Tom shakes as he serves behind the bar, the lighting is dingy and dark, and it has lost all warmth and relaxation. She shivers a little as she walks inside, but not out of fear, more out of feeling misplaced.

She even stops, glances over at one of the booths, where she sat with Harry and Ron before school started, the three sipping butterbeer and giggling. She glances upward again … her boys, how she misses them.

Well, she thinks she'll be with them soon.

With a small sigh she turns back to the task at hand, the man sat at the bar who hasn't noticed her yet, though as soon as she sashay's up to the bar and orders a fruity sounding cocktail he certainly does.

Hell, he even whistles, and she has to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

Thorfinn Rowle.

She barely knows him, but they overlapped one year at school, she isn't even sure why she feels guilty, but he is just so _young_. 20 something. She thinks of Draco then, he could have made her list had he not defected, currently smuggling them out information at great personal risk, hell she wonders if she could have killed him … probably not. And Thorfinn presents a similar challenge.

So young.

The other men were easy, old, fanatical, but she looks at Thorfinn (who has stood up to slide over to her), and thinks perhaps he just made bad choices, perhaps he could change.

But then he sits down, smiles at her, cracks a line and she can see the Dark Mark glowing on his arm.

Bad choices or not, it shouldn't matter.

It _can't_ matter.

It _doesn't_.

He leads her to his flat in London, hands on her behind as he leads her inside. She actually feels a flare of heat as he shoves her against the wall, sticks his tongue in her mouth. Merlin he can kiss, and she finds herself leaning in a little, carding her fingers in his hair.

It has been _years_ since she has been close to anyone like this. Things with Ron fizzled out before they even started (sweet Ron, who had been engaged to Hannah Abbott, her death had been hard on him, she hopes they are together now), and other than a date or two with Charlie Weasley (which had never gone anywhere, since he had been executed before her very eyes), she hadn't been with anyone.

And as much as Thorfinn Rowle is a Death Eater he is also very handsome, with _very_ skilled hands.

A little moan leaves her lips, and she knows that is it, she has to do it, before she loses her head. It feels good, so good, as his lips find her neck, and his fingers go to move her knickers to one side. So good, it could feel even better she knows.

But that is not what she is here for.

Again, that twinge of guilt, but she forces herself to push it aside, and she grabs her wand, and slashes it up to point at his neck, another cutting curse would do here she thinks, messy, but easy.

However, he stops her.

His hand grabs her wrist and she shrieks in surprise, she hasn't had anyone fight back before. She tries to shake her hand out of his grip but he is strong, all muscles, and height and pulses strength, he easy pins her hand to the wall, her wand clattering from her grip, his other hand finding her other wrist and pinning her again.

"Get off of me" She screams, and kicks but he presses his body to hers, halting her in any hope of escaping or injuring him. "Get off"

 _Fuck_.

"Don't scream" He commands, "You can hardly complain since you were about to murder me"

"I was not!" She can see he is unconvinced, and he rolls his eyes.

"Please, you don't think I know who you are? What you're here to do?" A shiver runs down her spine then, this is bad, really fucking bad.

"I don't know what you're talking…" She begins but he cuts her off.

"Granger"

That word somehow has her shrinking, and she doesn't even mean to but the glamours flicker then, and then fade, like him saying her name cancels them. Gone is her in a little white dress, blonde hair, pink cheeks and big blue eyes. Now she stands, curly haired, golden eyed, in jeans and a Weasley jumper, Hermione Granger in the flesh.

"I thought so" He says, and she has no idea what to do, this never factored into her plans. Again, her eyes glance upward, perhaps she'll be joining her friends sooner than she thinks, she should be more worried about that but it actually brings her a bit of comfort. Perhaps she is too far gone.

"How did you know?" She asks, no point pretending now, she is here, and either she is going to somehow squirm free complete her mission here and move on, or she's dead, simple as that.

"It's obvious" He said, "I may not have been a whiz kid like you but I am smart" She rolls her eyes then and he grips her wrist a little tighter to which she glares at him and he has the fucking audacity to laugh, "Someone ripping through the Dark Lords followers? All found in back alleyways or in slightly compromising positions?" He nods then, "Obvious Granger"

"Then how hasn't your Lord found me?" She asks not relenting her glare.

"Because he doesn't know you, doesn't know what you're capable of" He says.

She scoffs then, "And you do?"

"Of course" He says with a laugh, "I'm good friends with Dolohov, he was buddy buddy with my Father, in fact we share a flat, he'll be back soon, and if you remember in your 5th year was it?" He pauses then and nods, "5th it was, he cursed you with a curse that has killed every other person it has touched, even when silenced" She shivers then, and she swears the scar of hers heats up, "But here you stand"

"Here I stand" She growls and again he laughs, like he is toying with her, which she supposes he is, she is trapped, he knows it, she knows it.

She tries not to think of Dolohov, the last man on her list before the Master, he terrifies her even more than Voldemort, and again she swears her scar, the purple scorch mark across her ribs begins to heat up. She squirms uncomfortably.

"Exactly, so what's your plan?" He asks, moving then to insert his leg between her thighs, to which she gasps, and he laughs again, just what is he doing? "Kill us all before going for the Dark Lord?"

"Sounds about right" She says, for again she can only see one of them getting out of this, keeping secrets is pointless here.

He moves his knee against her then, adjusting so it rubs against her there, and she squirms and gasps again.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, please Granger, don't act like you weren't getting off before you tried to kill me, probably why you rushed it, you were enjoying yourself too much" He winks then and she splutters in outrage, even if there is some truth to it.

"I most certainly was not!" He pushes his knee against her again, and the moan that is ripped involuntarily from her lips makes her want to die.

"Sure" He laughs again, and she hates that his laugh is quite nice, warm, and full. Fuck. She can't humanise him, she still intends to kill him, despite her compromising position.

"Look just kill me already" She says, for she knows that this is how this ends, either she kills him or he her, and the odds are in his favour at the moment.

He scoffs at that, rolls his eyes and she thinks just how handsome he is, and how much of a traitor she feels to think that.

' _Forgive me'_

"I don't want to kill you" He laughs again, and for a minute she stops squirming, her eyebrows knitting together confused. It is an odd feeling to her, confusion, she _despises_ it, always has, and so she glares at Thorfinn until he laughs again and finishes his thought. "I need you to kill Voldemort"

"Wait what?"

"Leave me and Dolohov alone, and I'll tell you where the Dark Lord is" He offers, and she bites down on her lip. The idea of leaving two Death Eaters alive does not sit well with her, however, the chance to avoid Dolohov all together and find out where Voldemort is (because yes in her master plan she does not know where he spends his nights, and she knows she'd be long dead before she even drew her wand if she goes for him in public, a small flaw perhaps).

Fuck. What is she to do?

"Just the two of you?" She asks, scrunching her nose and he nods.

"Just us two, leave us be, we'll stay out of your way" He says.

She glares then, conscious he still pins her, she can't trust him, how can she possibly know he is telling the truth? She can't, that is the problem.

"How can I trust you?" She asks, trying again to move her wrists but his grip is like iron and again she feels that flash of heat. ' _Traitor'_ her mind screams, and she wants to tell it to fuck off, she hasn't had a man touch her in years, sue her for feeling a rush of desire when pinned down by a very attractive hulk of a man, Death Eater or not.

"You can't" He admits, and she sighs, "But just trust I'm working to my own self-interest"

A small sigh leaves her lips – what other choice does she have?

"And you don't have much of a choice" Like he read her mind, if her occlumency weren't so damn perfect she'd be worried.

"Right" No secrets here, she didn't have a choice and they both fucking knew it.

She is distracted then when she hears a loud crack, then a voice, that _voice_ , "Finn?" Steps, and then…

' _Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen, and I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene…'_

Dolohov.

Her blood runs cold, he looks at her with just a hint of surprise and then he is smirking. All heat and flush suddenly disappears from her skin, except the scar, the scar he put on her, that _fucking_ burns.

"Fuck" She hears Thorfinn, but it is as though he is underwater, she can't hear him. She feels cold, as though drowning, except that awful scar, which is on fire.

She realises now she might have never been able to kill Dolohov, not when he absolutely terrifies her, terrifies her in a way even Voldemort couldn't. She can barely even look at him, never mind stand him down and kill him.

"Hello Hermione" A little whimper leaves her lips, and she glances down at her wand on the floor, back to Thorfinn, who is now glaring at Dolohov, and then back to Dolohov. Her nightmare, her spectre, perhaps for her, her worst enemy.

And so, as he takes a step forward, as Thorfinn yells, she disapparates, wandless, it took her 8 months to learn but she is thankful for it now, even as she leaves her wand behind (what else can she do?), and lands in a heap in her safe house.

She has nothing to silence it with as a scream of something akin to fear and frustration rips through her.

Two left.

Wandless.

 _Fuck_.

* * *

' _Good thing Este's sister is gonna swear she was with me, good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy'_

Sleep comes fitfully that night, but when she awakes the next morning there is something on her pillow.

A scream would leave her lips had she not tore it raw the night before with her shrieks _(fuck, fuck, master plan over, fuck, sorry, so sorry)._ Instead, she just trembles as she picks up the note.

' _You'll need this. You and I will talk when it is done...'_

Her wand lies on the note, and she feels her scar burn again, he didn't leave a name, he didn't need to. But that is not what is important now, something else is.

Just the leader left.

One to go.

* * *

' _They think she did it, but they just can't prove it'_

She is disappointed actually, very disappointed that killing Tom Riddle is easier than she would have thought.

She expected some epic battle, twirling of wands, firing curses, fury, and hexes, darkness vs light, her chance to truly avenge Harry, to fire at the man who'd torn everything apart.

Instead, it is relatively simple when she realises what she needs to do.

She kills another of his cronies – Alecto Carrow, and her awful brother, so useless they hadn't even ranked on her list. She kills them both when they attempt a raid of one of the Order safehouses, she doesn't even bother with a glamour or the theatrics.

They aren't even _worth_ it.

What is worth it though is the hair she plucks from Alecto Carrow's head, that is worth the two curses from her wand and the ten-minute round trip.

She doesn't have time to brew Polijuice, and so she acquires some easily enough through Seamus. When she looks at the murky coloured potion again she thinks of Harry and Ron, the three laughing, just babies as they sat in the disused toilet, ready to set the world to rights. Just children. Children of war.

Weren't they always children fighting in this war?

"Forgive me" Her last one, just two days after she had killed the siblings, as she forces down the awful potion, the delightful Alecto Carrow turning the brew a dirty shade of green. Disgusting, but necessary.

She pulls on the outfit she'd stripped from the woman (after she'd hidden her body), grimaces at the nasty mark on her arm and makes her way to her destination.

It had come in a note a week earlier.

' _Malfoy Manor'_

Nothing else, she doesn't need anything else, not now. This is the end, and here she goes.

One left. Or only one left that matters at least.

One to go.

* * *

' _They think she did it, but they just can't prove it'_

She arrives at the Manor, as the Death Eaters that remain line the table. There's so few now and she has to hide her smirk, give Alecto's Master a look of deference, so low ranking he doesn't bother to ask where she has been. A tight ship he does not run, to his fault.

She takes a seat in the middle of the table, Thorfinn sits further down, Dolohov near his Master, Draco opposite but he doesn't dare look up from the table, the only Malfoy left now, he looks terrified.

So, few others, maybe 10 more, barely the scions of pureblood houses now, and again she forces her smirk down, just dips her head as Tom Riddle (who she'll admit is much more attractive in his human skin but still radiates _evil_ ), prattles on about finding this murderer, about recruitment, about power. Ugh, part of her just wants to strike now, get it over with.

She wouldn't have expected the Dark Lord to be so dull (though the crackle of power that surrounds him isn't she supposes).

"A problem Alecto?" He asks, and she near curses herself.

Well, no time like the present. It is _here_. One last glance upward, one last dose of Gryffindor courage running through her veins. One last hope.

"No, my Lord" She frets, but he still flicks his head for her to stand, and he glides over to her, trains his wand on her, clearly not one to take any kind of defiance. And so he lifts his wand.

And _fuck_ , the look of surprise on his face when she reaches for hers is almost priceless.

' _She thinks I did it, but she just can't prove it'_

That look, it is only topped by the flash of fear as the Polijuice potion dissipates at her command. Hermione Granger stood before him now, Weasley jumper, curly hair and all.

No epic battle, no sparks, _nothing_. No, because the look of fear wasn't for the wand she had reached for, nor does she flatter is it for her face. No, no, _no_.

The look of fear is for the knife she had buried in his neck, to the hilt, so fast now, so used to it, the spray of blood as her real face emerged didn't even make her flinch. The blood is black, which would terrify her had it now been so satisfying to see.

The Dark Lord does bleed…

Great men, so arrogant, so convinced they were untouchable, so sure they were so above until they weren't.

' _No, no body, no crime'_

She doesn't even flinch as he gurgles and slashes his wand, perhaps she could have jumped out of the way, perhaps she could have deflected the curse, but she didn't, maybe because she was too smug in her victory, basking in his defeat, or maybe because she knows its over now, perhaps because she is ready for it to be over.

Death Eaters dead, Horcruxes gone, Tom Riddle dead.

"For Harry" She manages to whisper just before the curse takes her, as his eyes widen in fury, as they fall, _fall together_ , she just about manages a flick of her wand to cast the same flames over Malfoy Manor that had ravaged the werewolf pack months earlier. She hears the pops of apparition, as flames consume first her, then Tom Riddle, then Malfoy Manor.

' _I wasn't letting up until the day he died'_

Like Icarus, who flew too close to the sun, but in the case of Tom Riddle she thinks, as her eyes flicker open, as a bright light, brighter than that made by the Fiendyfire she had summoned wakens her, as she hears the horn of a train, a puff of smoke, as she stands, as she sees the curled creature beneath the train bench, croaking for help, as she sees people.

Harry, Ron, Mom, Dad, Dumbledore, Remus, Neville, Charlie, Molly, Arthur, Fred, George, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Tonks and countless more.

As they rush to her, on Kings Cross, Platform 9 ¾ , the creature ignored, groaning in pain, there she thinks of Icarus.

In this case, perhaps Tom Riddle hadn't flown too close to the sun, but too close to her.

And oh, how he had burned.

' _I wasn't letting up until the day he died'_

**Author's Note:**

> sooo thoughts?
> 
> honestly I started thinking a lil follow-up to this but I am satisfied with the ending, could still do a lil something tho, magic and all - any interest? let me know!
> 
> do let me know what you thought! this was soooo much fun to write and has fired me up to update my other HP fics, (I also have another one in the works - I know, I can't help it!). I am currently working on updating the greatest which is proving to come out faaaar longer than I intended, ugh.
> 
> bookmark to hold forever, comment to make me grin, and do enjoy if you read again!
> 
> speak soon


End file.
